It turns out there’s a history of poetry in my family as I have unearthed a poem written by my second great grandfather in 1887. It was the year of Queen Victoria’s Golden Jubilee and the Empire was in the mood for a party. None were more enthusiastic than the City of Adelaide who planned a new exhibition hall to mark the event. Inspired by London’s highly successful Great Exhibition of 1851 funds were raised and doubters were dispatched. The event was a great success, as was the Jubilee Exhibition Hall which has long since been demolished; a vestige of which remains is a fountain which now resides outside of Adelaide Arcade in Rundle Mall.

To add some context, this was prior to WWI and indeed the Boer war.

Notes;

I looked up ‘Cojamana’ and couldn’t find anything but assume that it’s some kind of plant. A ‘roundelay’ is a short, simple song with a refrain.

Born of the foam like the Goddess of Love,

With a coral rock for a throne,

Where the Austral waves kiss the glittering sand

Of Australia’s bright happy glorious land,

A maiden she slept all alone,

And the stealthy blacks, with their panther-like tread,

Ever let her sleep on e’en as though she were dead.

Yet the waves with their musical air,

The winds in her soft golden hair,

The seagulls, and sunshine,

Cojamana, and woodbine,

Sang sweetly this gentle refrain-

“Awake from thy slumbers, sweet maiden,

Shake the fetters of sleep from thine eyes;

With silver and gold you are laden,

O, awaken and learn to be wise.

The nations have heard of your beauty,

Of your river, your mountain, and dell,

Creation’s great God seeks your duty,

O, awake from your slumberous spell.”

Britannia looked forth from her sea-girt isle,

And she loved this maiden so lone;

She stretched out her arms with a mother’s sweet care,

And commanded her stalwart sons to prepare

O’er the seas to this shore to be borne.

They have stepped on the strand where the lov’d maiden lay;

With a true British cheer they have chased sleep away.

The flower-spangled hills re-echo

The shouts of the brave and the free.

Rosella and skylark,

Silver-wattle and string-bark,

Thus hopefully sang then to thee.

“Awake from thy slumbers, sweet maiden,

Ope thine eyes to the good and the great,

See thy sisters around thee all laden,

Winged steeds speed thy glorious fate,

For the Saxon, the Celt, and the Teuton,

Will guide thee glory and fame,

And give thee amidst all the nations,

A great and a glorious name.”

Erect ‘neath the shade of an aged gumtree

She stood mid that little brave hand,

Homage then swore to their God and the Crown,

And then bowed that nor care nor dark gloomy frown

Should light on her fair, beauteous land.

Forth they sped to the forests, the gullies and dells,

Hopeful hearts full of joy as the old marriage bells,

Mid perfume of newly-trod flowers,

The chatter of laughing Ha-ha,

Rosella and love-bird,

Gum-blossom and Lyre-bird,

Thus proudly of her sand then.

“On her throne sits the Austral maiden;

Sits the still never slumbering queen;

They come to her palace all laden,

Neér a care has she ever T ween-

Virgin earth has entwined the ploughshare,

Shining metals have gazed on the sun,

And the nations have learned to love her,

For the honor by industry won.”

Clothed in bright verdure the mountain slopes shine

And the kine in contentment lie,

The white lambkin sports with the limpid dew,

And the proud Austral steed so fleet and so true

Lifts his beautiful head on high,

The strong patient oxen o’er mountain and plain

Drag the fleecy wool in the loaded wain,

The sinewy stockman gallops apace,

Must’ring young steers for the market-place,

And he sings as he flies

Tween the earth and bright skies

This joyous roundelay –

“Thanks, oh thanks, sweet Austral maiden;

A thousand thanks sweet Princess mine,

For your sunny hills with verdure laden,

For your juice of the luscious vine;

And bless thee for blue skies and sunshine,

And your showers of generous rain,

And the rigour of freedom that fills me
With love for my own fellow men”

Arranged in fine raiment the fair maiden dwelt

In her city just over the sea;

The busy throng eager for wealth and for rest,

Pace northward and southward and east and west,

Yet then toil right merrily.

In loving wefts bound to her own mother land,

Australia and Britain forward go on hand in hand,

Her sons and her daughters ever revere

Our Queen and old England of memory dear.

And then sing as they go

On their cheerful may

Unto thee this roundelay-

“Years fifty have gone since this maiden
Shook the fetters of sleep from her eyes,

Ships go forth from her granaries laden,
She has waken’d and learned to be wise.

Vengeance had God on his side and a badge which shimmered in the sunlight as it flickered through the tree line. Just below the ridge doggedly following the trail of the murderous scum that had butchered his sweet family. Justice was coming just as sure as night followed day. It was the time of blood and dying. Once over the peak the squinted eyes surveyed the hombre’s in the distance. Giddy up boy! The clip clop was replaced with horseshoe thunder heralding the coming apocalypse. With a pounding heart good faced off evil. Blue, steel clasped with white alabaster and sheathed in angry tooled leather confronted the trilogy from the badlands. There was no need for words in this final battle, Complete silence….until the black hat desecrated the honor with a concealed Winchester. To no avail, crack, crack, crack the good the bad and the ugly fell heavily into the dust. The universe was re-calibrated and Ennio Morricone reigned supreme.

Today is my birthday, hip, hip, hooray,
I’m stuck with the kids while my wife’s run away.
I thought I was good but it can’t be so,
cause the wife’s runnin wild with her pack of lesbos.
Next week I suppose, we’ll all re-attend,
Our life as it appears, so not to offend.

Collector of plastic collector of cans
who might it be but the old garbage man.
At sunrise he toiled and worked hard for his quid
he drove the truck and behind tagged the kid.

The kid was a star down the old footy club
the old man his trainer, mentor and bud.
Together they worked and together they earned
though not related it was together they learned.

There ages were different and so were their fates
it made not a difference cause they were best mates.
But one day through the valley in rode the court jester,
a boil in the district full of puss, yet to fester.

He spoke the vernacular of silver forked tongue,
he stood on his soap box each day in the sun.
Where was he from……well it wasn’t from here,
but he had a vision, although it wasn’t quite clear.

“Revitalized, modernized, everything new,
strategically, developed – for just me and you.
Sustainable living amongst urban sprawl,
economic growth well it benefits you all”
.
The people they listened and bugger me dead,
the people were mesmerised with each word that he said.
But I thought to myself, this is garbage, Man!,
I heard all the words but I didn’t understand.

Well one day in the yard the boys they were told
that their services weren’t needed, that their methods were old.
A contract was written, without their consent,
drafted by lawyers and set in cement.

Everyone was sad – to see the boys leave the show,
fellas could you clean out your lockers fore you go.

The new bloke’s alright – he does the work of two,
with shiny hydraulics in his truck spankin’new.
His shirt is fluorescent and he’s usually not late,
don’t know his name yet he’s from interstate.

Sometimes at Christmas when I’d put out a beer,
I think of those garbo’s who were mates yesteryear.
The young kid he shot through, looking for work,
forgot about footy and now he’s a clerk.

As for the old boy from what I understand,
he travels the roadways looking for cans.
As time it rolls on its abundantly clear,
we all have a due date and yours…..is it near?